


in and out

by M0stlyVoid



Series: Kinktober 2020 [12]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Fingering, Coming In Pants, Exhibitionism, Hand Jobs, M/M, Politics, Public Sex, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-12
Updated: 2020-10-12
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:27:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26975845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/M0stlyVoid/pseuds/M0stlyVoid
Summary: The exact nature of Harry and Draco's relationship might not be public, but that doesn't meannothingabout it is. You just need to know when to pay attention.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Series: Kinktober 2020 [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1948741
Comments: 34
Kudos: 391





	in and out

**Author's Note:**

> the october 12 prompt for kinktober 2020 is— _public place/exhibitionism_.

Draco lifts his champagne flute to his mouth and takes a sip, rolling the sparkling liquid over his tongue as he observes the room from his seat at the bar.

There’s a good crowd tonight, he’s happy to see—plenty of Ministry higher-ups hobnobbing with the glitterati, everyone mingling throughout the various social groups in Draco’s newly-renovated, sparkling ballroom.

The Minister is here, twirling his wife across the dance floor. He catches Draco’s eye and nods. They’ve had an uneasy relationship, Draco and Minister Simmons, ever since Kingsley stepped down and open elections were held for the first time since the War. Alexander had run on a campaign of progressive reform, and Draco had used his money and his improving reputation (assisted by his new, tentative friendship with the Golden Trio) to back him wholeheartedly. After his victory, the new Minister Simmons had called Draco in for a meeting and told him in no uncertain terms that he was not to expect any favours, handouts, or other special treatment from the Ministry or from himself. _I am not Cornelius Fudge, and this is not 1988,_ he’d said, and Draco had bristled, offended, and responded with a snappy _And I am not my father, **Minister,**_ and stormed from his office. Things had been very chilly for a while, and Simmons’ support had lessened in light of the public shunning Draco gave him, but Granger had pleaded and cajoled, so Draco had called a cease-fire, and now things were awkward, but getting back to normal.

Speaking of Granger—she’s here too, speaking earnestly with the Head of the newly-renamed Department of Creature Relations; Draco will eat his hat if she’s not running it herself within the next two years. Weasley is laughing with Luna Lovegood at a nearby table, and—

Draco smiles behind his glass as his eyes land on Potter, who’s chatting enthusiastically with Robards, a small clutch of Aurors circling around them in an effort to look like they’re a part of the conversation.

Harry looks relaxed, confident. He’s finally figured out how to be at ease in public settings like this; had to, after Robards was promoted to head of the DMLE and subsequently pulled Harry up into the Head Auror role. He’d been a nervous wreck at first; awkward, sweaty, and occasionally unintentionally insulting, until finally one day Granger snapped and sent him to Draco for a _crash course in social niceties_.

Draco’s not sure that she would approve of the methods he and Harry have worked out to help him be relaxed and poised at these events. He doesn’t much care.

He drains his drink and gestures for two more, then crosses the room, deftly avoiding getting sucked into various conversational traps as he goes, until he arrives at Harry’s side, pushing his way past the hangers-ons and pressing a glass into Harry’s hand. “You needed a refill,” he murmurs into Harry’s ear, blowing deliberately against his neck and noting with satisfaction the shiver that Harry mostly hides.

Draco sticks his hand out and shakes Robards’ with a not-entirely-friendly smile—he’s showing more teeth than is polite, he knows, but Robards has never liked him, and even Draco’s very public _friendship_ with Harry Potter isn’t enough to dissuade the man from ordering quarterly reviews of his finances, and even the occasional raid into businesses Draco owns.

They never find anything, of course. There’s nothing to find. Draco’s very careful to make sure of that.

But, for Harry’s sake, he makes nice, so he enquires politely after Gawain’s children for a while, nodding at the appropriate intervals and exclaiming over his son’s latest exam scores, or whatever it is. After a while, he’s able to smoothly extricate Harry from the conversation, leading him to a less-populated corner, aware of eyes on them from all over the room.

The exact nature of their relationship is the subject of much public speculation—are they just friends? Is Draco pining away for an oblivious Harry? Is Harry waiting for Draco to get over his playboy phase? What do Granger and Weasley think? What does _Ginny_ Weasley think? (As far as Draco can tell, Ginny thinks that Blaise’s cock suits her just fine, but the press is more than happy to ignore her very public whirlwind romance with him when it suits their narrative to paint her as Harry’s heartbroken ex. As if.)

Harry thinks it’s funny and encourages Draco’s baiting. Granger rolls her eyes at every new article, scolding them for playing with the public. Weasley’s started a scrapbook with all the articles they or their relationship feature in, with his own scribbled commentary on what _really_ happened, and claims he’s going to publish it when the ‘big reveal’ finally happens and retire from Wheezes on the royalties.

Draco is loath to admit that Weasley can actually be fairly amusing when he tries.

He steers Harry to an empty table as far in the corner as they can get, and they chat casually for a while, sipping their drinks and maintaining a friendly distance, until Draco notes that most of the attention has been redirected.

Most, not all. It wouldn’t be fun otherwise.

Draco sets his half-empty glass aside and steps closer to Harry, keeping the table and its long, draping cloth cover between them and the rest of the room. “Are you having fun tonight?” he says softly, reaching forward and stroking along Harry’s waist below the level of the tabletop.

Harry closes his eyes and takes a swallow of his wine, then meets Draco’s gaze. “You know I could be having _more_ fun,” he replies with a bit of a whine, shifting from foot to foot as Draco sneaks his hand past the folds of his formal robes and runs his fingers over warm skin. “I can’t _believe_ you left me like that earlier.”

“We had a deal,” Draco says conversationally, moving a bit closer and dipping his fingers under the waistband of Harry’s pants. “ _You_ were to have your speech prepared before I came over last night, and _I_ would suck you off right before we left. You didn’t hold up your end; why should I hold up mine?” He drifts his fingers over Harry’s cock, which is hot through the silky cotton boxer-briefs. “Have you been this hard all night? I never would have been able to tell; you’re getting better at playing the public.”

Harry grits his teeth and sways forward a bit, and Draco snatches his hand back, keeping the pressure along Harry’s cock feather-light. “Yes,” Harry bites out, settling back and putting on a smile when he notices a few looks directed their way. “You bastard. You’re paying me back for last month, aren’t you?”

Draco smiles placidly and picks up his glass, taking a sip as he strokes along Harry’s cock, rubbing where the head is starting to leak precome into the fabric. “ _You_ left me tied up in your kitchen for _an hour_ while you entertained the department heads. You could have gotten rid of them quickly; you decided to have them stay for a drink after their question about your case was answered. Any one of them could have walked in on me like that. So, _am_ I paying you back for that? Because I thought you said I deserved it for being _mouthy_.” He trails a finger back and massages Harry’s balls.

Harry’s eyes are getting a little wild as he strains to maintain a casual posture. They’re closer than could be easily dismissed as a normal, friendly distance, but Draco knows that from a distance there’s nothing else to indicate something else is going on. There will be photos in tomorrow’s _Prophet,_ he’s sure, and Granger will cut him a suspicious glare over their morning tea, but for now, he’s too entranced by the sweat beading at Harry’s hairline and the shine in his eyes to care.

“Are you going to come in your pants?” he asks conversationally, tilting his head as if he’s just asked Harry his opinion about the latest Tornados match. “Right here, in my ballroom, in front of the Minister, and half the Wizengamot, and everyone important in our society?” He increases the pressure against Harry’s cock just a bit, just enough. “In front of all your friends? It gets you hot, doesn’t it, thinking about who might be watching. Who might think about this later. Doesn’t it, Harry?”

“ _Fuck,_ ” Harry hisses, holding himself up with the table as damp spreads across his pants under Draco’s fingers. “Fuck. Merlin, I hate you. _Fuck_.”

“No you don’t,” Draco says, withdrawing his hand and casting a subtle cleaning spell over himself. He draws back and picks up his glass again. “I’m going to go speak with Ginevra, then get another drink, and then excuse myself. Follow me after five minutes. I’ll be in the receiving room.” He nods to Harry once, then crosses the room, joining Ginny and Blaise’s conversation for a bit while he finishes his next glass of wine.

Glancing over to where Harry has joined Luna and Weasley, Draco wonders if he’s cleaned himself up. He hopes he hasn’t.

After his drink is finished, he excuses himself and slips out of the ballroom, taking care to ensure he’s unseen. When he enters the receiving room, he opens the window and leans against the sill, looking out over the Manor grounds.

Almost exactly five minutes later, Harry’s there, pressing up against his back, hands wandering over Draco’s torso. Harry bites gently along his neck, sucking lightly, and Draco wonders if it’ll be enough to leave a mark. There are still hours left in this event, and his robes are not cut high enough to hide a bruise. “That,” Harry growls into his ear, “was bloody _hot_. You’re shameless.” He’s rubbing his groin against Draco’s arse, half-hard again already.

Draco moans and drops his head back onto Harry’s shoulder, baring more of his neck for Harry’s attentions. “What does that make you, then,” he says breathlessly. “ _Fuck,_ are you leaving marks?”

Harry doesn’t answer, just bites down harder, sliding one hand into the front of Draco’s robes and down his pants, taking a firm grip over his cock. “Did you block the Floo?”

“No,” Draco pants, thrusting forward into Harry’s hand. “Did you put up any privacy spells?”

Harry chuckles darkly into the curve of his neck, then presses Draco forward until he’s holding the windowsill again, slightly bent over and staring out over the patio, where party attendees have spilled out to enjoy the mild fall weather. “No.”

He hikes Draco’s robe up, and his other hand is suddenly down the back of Draco’s pants, two slick fingers rubbing against his hole. “Anyone could walk in on us,” he continues, tone casual, but intense. “Anyone who’s late to this damn party could Floo in, any second now. We wouldn’t have enough warning to stop. They’d see you, spreading your legs for me. What do you think they’d say? Who would they tell?”

Draco’s knuckles are white against the sill, and he’s biting his lip to keep from moaning—the acoustics in the garden are _incredible,_ and if he’s too loud the entire group outside will look up and see him. “Harry,” he whines quietly, pushing his arse back. “ _Please_.”

“I’ve got you,” Harry breathes into his ear, then pushes his fingers into Draco’s hole, going straight for his prostate—there’s no time for teasing.

Draco bites through his lip, tasting blood. Between the tease of leaving Harry hard and throbbing on his bed before the gala, then what they did in the ballroom earlier, he’s going to tip over the edge in seconds.

“Come on,” Harry urges, tightening his fist around Draco’s cock and rubbing his thumb over the head. “Come for me.”

“ _Shit,_ ” Draco swears softly as he comes all over Harry’s fist, sagging slightly as his head spins.

Harry hauls him away from the window and spins him around, kissing him fiercely. He pulls back, gasping, and touches his mouth. “Fuck, did you bite through your lip trying to keep quiet? Bloody hell, that’s hot.” He palms his own cock through his robes. “God. Okay, let me just...I’ll heal your lip, and we have to go back to this godforsaken party...what’s the earliest you can leave?”

Draco holds still under Harry’s healing spell, then straightens his robes, still catching his breath. “It’s scheduled to go until eleven. What time is it?”

Harry checks his wristwatch. “Half nine,” he says with a sigh, squeezing himself once more before adjusting his robes.

Draco steps forward. “Do you want me to…?”

Harry shakes his head, flashing a grin. “No. I think I’ll wait.”

Draco raises an eyebrow and smirks. “So you _did_ like it, then. I knew you would.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Harry pulls him into a soft, lingering kiss. “I’ll go back first; I told Ron I was going to the gent’s, and I’m not sure how many more times ‘I got lost’ is going to work when we’re at events here.”

Draco Summons a thick crystal tumbler and _Aguamenti_ s himself some water. “Sure,” he says, rolling his shoulders. “Harry...how bad is my neck?”

Harry smiles again, teeth glinting in the low light, and exits the room without answering.

**Author's Note:**

> the tumblr post for this fic is [here](https://bonesliketambourines.tumblr.com/post/631806631584399360/kinktober-day-12-in-and-out).


End file.
